


Fear

by geeky__chick



Series: BlackHawk Ficlet Series [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:34:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeky__chick/pseuds/geeky__chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A random firefight with the Avengers ends up scaring Clint Barton more than he ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You Really Scared Me Photoset](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/83957) by clintbarton-natasharomanoff.tumblr.com. 



> This was inspired by an [amazing photoset](http://clintbarton-natasharomanoff.tumblr.com/post/102983898079) on tumblr made by clintbarton-natasharomanoff. Thanks for the plot bunny. I couldn't stop until this damn thing was written. Hope you enjoy!

 

_I fear_  
 _I have nothing to give_  
 _I have so much to lose_  
 _Here in this lonely place_  
 _Tangled up in our embrace_  
 _There's nothing I'd like_  
 _Better than to fall_

_-Sarah McLachlan_

 

**Fear**

 

“Hang on, Nat. Just hang on.”

All he could see was the blood. It oozed onto his fingers, where he held the soaked gauze. His fingers trembled, but he wouldn’t let go until someone told him it was safe. Hell, he wasn’t sure he would be able to even then.

His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. That was a neat trick, since the damn thing had stopped the second she went down, with crimson blooming over her back. He’d been only yards from her, he hadn’t even seen the guy sneaking up behind him. All he heard was the din of battle, the metallic dinging of shield and hammer mingling with the whine of repulsors, shouts and screams of civilians trying to get out of the way.

Before Clint could even nock an arrow, he heard the gunshot.

_Natasha!_

He forgot the fight, forgot the others, forgot the years of training. All he saw was his worst nightmare come to life. The arrow loosed without a real target. Clint pulled the sidearm from his holster, shooting blindly in an attempt to get across the road.

Steve got there first, covering Natasha with his shield to keep her from further harm. Clint didn’t care. He shoved the Captain away as he slid toward his partner on his knees.

For the first time since that night in Paris, Clint saw fear on Natasha’s face.

“Clint.” She coughed his name, a weak hand reaching up to grasp his jacket. “C-Clint.”

“I’m right here, Nat. It’s ok. I’ve got you.”

He slammed back to reality without warning as the gurney carrying his partner was shoved through the swinging doors that led to the trauma room. One of the nurses was trying to pull him away, to get clean gauze on the bullet wound.

Medical jargon was being shouted, monitors beeped, sticky pads were placed on Natasha’s skin. Her eyes were closed; she had lost consciousness on the way to the hospital. Still, Clint couldn’t leave her side. She had to know that he hadn’t abandoned her. Clint only moved when the nurse all but shoved him, pushing him back with her blood still staining his fingers. He called out that he wasn’t leaving, that he would be here when she woke up. Natasha could not respond.

Someone led him outside, to a nearby waiting room. Clint, dazed and more than a little wounded, stared at the door as it swung shut.

The others were already in the room. Clint barely saw them, the battle-worn group that he considered his friends since the fall of SHIELD. It was only because they needed Clint and Natasha – the Black Widow and Hawkeye – that they ever left the seclusion of their Alaskan farmhouse. Why hadn’t he kept her hidden? Why had he come back, so she could take a bullet meant for him?

“Hawk?”

It was Tony. The billionaire genius moved closer, cautiously as one might approach a frightened doe. His suit was powered down on the opposite side of the room. It was Tony Stark and not Iron Man that came close enough to put a hand on his shoulder.

The single touch was enough to shove Clint back into reality.

Rage kicked up from his belly, licked at his heart with white-hot ferocity. He wanted to step back in that moment, shoot the bastard who put a bullet in Natasha. He ached to put a damn arrow through his eye socket, beat him into the pavement with his bare hands.

Hands that bore sticky, drying blood that flowed from the woman he loved.

On a cry that straddled the border of fury and pain, Clint turned away from Stark. His bloodied fists struck at the wall across from the others, crimson staining the calming taupe paint. The force of Clint’s anguish knocked a pretty, decorative sconce from its perch and sent a randomly ugly painting sideways.

He felt Stark step back. Banner, Rogers, and Thor all stood up from their seats, as though to show solidarity. Clint didn’t care. All he could see was Natasha limp on that gurney, her blood staining the sheets, her clothes, his skin. Her red hair had covered her face, that look of stark fear in her eyes would haunt the rest of his days.

“Stop. Clint, stop.”

It was Stark. His friend’s hands gripped his shoulders; pulling him away from the brutal beating he was giving the wall. The fight went out of Clint so swiftly that his legs gave out. Some master assassin he was. Stark and Thor caught him easily, leading him to a nearby chair. They sat him down, but did not ask about Natasha.

Clint couldn’t speak, so they sat in silence to wait.

 

~**~

They lost her heartbeat an hour into surgery.

She was down for a full four minutes, nearly declared dead. No one knew what started her heart again. Was it the drugs? The electric shocks? The nurse pounding on her chest? Clint bet on her own unwillingness to die. She wasn’t done, and she certainly wasn’t going to be taken out by some coward with a .45mm.

When she needed blood, they were all typed and tested. Colonel Rhodes, Sam Wilson, and Jane Foster were perfect matches, and they gave until the doctors forced them to stop. Clint had wanted to give, as well as the others. Clint was not a proper match and no one knew what Banner or Rogers’ blood would do to her. Thor was technically an alien and Stark had radiation poisoning four years ago, no one was going near their blood. Luckily, Rhodes and Wilson had turned up during her never-ending surgery, offering support.

Still, he was grateful for the help. At least they had done something aside from waiting.

Eighteen hours after Natasha was rushed into the ER, the doctors finally told them good news. She was going to make it.

Clint was out of the waiting room in a heartbeat, finding the area marked ‘Recovery’ almost by instinct. When he pulled the curtain back, the relief almost took him out at the knees.

“Hey, birdbrain.”

Natasha lay on the hospital bed, bandaged and pale, but very much alive. Her pale lips were curved into a semblance of a pained smile, even as tubes rushed blood and fluid into her body. She was tucked in tightly, which Clint immediately moved to undo. She hated to be held down by the sheets.

As he pulled the bedclothes out to free her movement, Natasha grinned. Her legs shifted under the sheets, her toes wriggling. When he was sure she would now be comfortable, Clint sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

For a long moment, he simply stared at her. Natasha’s hand found his, squeezing his fingers with a lack of strength that scared him. She’d been so close, Clint thought. She’d been so damn close to death. He knew it. She knew it. He hadn’t thought fear could be so consuming.

“Don’t.” Natasha whispered. “Stop it.”

Clint swallowed hard. He couldn’t hide or lie, or even try to change the subject. Natasha’s brilliant green gaze held his captive, unrelenting and fierce even in her weakened state. Respect and love forced him to keep that gaze, holding it so she could see under the sheen of assassin and into the man. No one, _no one_ , knew him as Natasha did.

“It’s not your fault.”

Though he wasn’t one for emotion, Clint found that a lump of it had formed in his throat, too rigid to swallow. Her hand squeezed his again, that pale, pale skin luminous in the dim light.

“That bullet,” Clint ground out. “It was meant for me.”

Her delicate fingers clenched his, strengthened by resolve. Clint was forced to raise his gaze, zeroing in on her emerald scrutiny almost immediately. He could see that she wasn’t going to listen to any of his foolishness. Part of him, the part that only she knew, rejoiced in the simple fact that she was alive enough to give him that Romanoff-patented ‘Don’t be a dumbass’ look.

“Clint. I can take care of myself,” she said heavily.

“I know.” He scooted closer to her on the bed, lifting her hand to kiss the gentle ripple of her knuckles. How did she still smell of cinnamon and apples, even under the cleansers, the blood? That one scent was comforting in ways he might never be able to explain.

“I know that.” Clint insisted, closing his eyes. “It’s just that…you scared me.”

When his eyes opened, Natasha was still staring at him. This time, however, he could see the understanding in her eyes, the comprehension of what he had been through in the last day.

“This time, Nat, you _really_ scared me.”

Natasha sat up gingerly. Clint knew she wouldn’t listen to him if he insisted she lie down, so he merely helped her. The master assassin, the super spy slid closer to him on the bed, ensuring she didn’t knock out any of her IVs. Clint accepted her into his arms because he needed to hold her, even if it was a half-hearted effort due to her pain level.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispered as she let him fold her into his arms. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Clint kissed her hair, holding her as tightly as he dared.

“Don’t do that again, Nat.” He replied quietly. “I don’t know if I could live through it.”

Her chuckle was warm, welcome. “Then don’t stand in the open mid-battle, idiot.”

Unable to help himself, Clint laughed. “Ok. Deal.”


End file.
